


Effective Studying Techniques

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy/Raven on the side, College AU, F/M, sexiled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:18:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt; <i>college au clarphy: mutually sexiled by respective roommate braven.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Please, Clarke!” Clarke doesn’t even bother to look up from her laptop at Raven’s plea, she just keeps on typing. After all, she doesn’t have much time left if she wants this paper on Italian history in regards to art to be perfect. She does have about a week before it’s due, but Clark doesn’t half ass anything.

“No. And I don’t care how hot he is!” Raven groans in frustration and sits on the bed next to Clarke with a huff.

“Clarke, I am begging you. Just take an evening off, or go to the library or something.” Raven makes puppy dog eyes that Clarke can, unfortunately, see in her peripheral vision. Damnit, she can never resist Raven for long.

“You know I can’t focus in the library, Ray. People talk too much.” She closes her laptop sharply and turns to the other girl, realizing she’s been stuck on the word “marble” since the conversation started.

“The coffee shop?” Clarke raises an eyebrow and Raven shakes her head ruefully, “Right, same issue.”

Clarke throws herself backwards on her bed and lays down in defeat as Raven starts muttering under her breath, trying to figure out a good place for Clarke to set up shop for the evening. Or overnight, Raven’s stamina is truly impressive, a fact that Clarke learned one night when she came back before receiving an all clear text. She also learned that her roommate has no shame whatsoever, and apparently neither do a lot of the people at this school.

“I know! How about you just go work in his room?” Clarke groans and pushes herself up on her elbows.

“Seriously, that’s your best idea? What on earth makes you think I would want to spend the evening in a room with a strange man, or that it would be any better than being in the library?” Sometimes Raven is incredibly smart, and sometimes Clarke doubts the university for admitting her in the first place.

“No, it’s perfect!” Raven’s broad grin confuses Clarke. “Bellamy said his roommate is, like, never there. Especially on Friday nights.”

“That… Could actually work.” Sure, a stranger's room isn’t ideal, but it’s better than the library where everyone for some reason thinks it’s the perfect place to start a conversation with her. “But you owe me.”

“Absolutely.” Raven hops up from Clarke’s bed and crosses the room to her own, smiling as she pulls out her phone. She’s soon lost to the world, texting her latest beau, and Clarke just shakes her head fondly, packing up everything she’ll need in order to spend an evening writing.

An hour later, Clarke finds herself in front of another dorm room with instructions to just let herself in. The anonymous roommate was apparently MIA and had been for a few days, so there was a good chance he was staying somewhere else. Or dead in a ditch, as Bellamy had pointed out with a shrug. And Raven hadn’t been lying about how hot he was, so Clarke actually feels a little bit better about having been kicked out of her own room.

“Just go in. Wouldn’t that be creepy if he is in there, though?” Clarke mutters to herself as she hesitates, her hand resting lightly on the doorknob as she debates whether she should knock or not. She pulls her hand away from the handle and then puts it back, unable to commit to one action. _Either one would be better than standing here like a crazy person_ , she scolds herself, but her internal voice fails to sway her actions.

“Can I help you?” Clarke jumps a little, almost having forgotten in her indecision that there are other people in this building, people who probably would be concerned about a strange girl standing in the halls. She turns towards the man who spoke, and immediately regrets how strange she must look. Of course she would seem like a crazy chick in front of the unfairly attractive boy leaning against the wall next to her. He’s pale and slim, but not in a sickly way, and that with his artfully messy hair is right up Clarke’s alley.

“Um…” Clarke pulls her hand from the door and puts it in her pocket with a smile. “No, thanks. Just forgot my key, I was hoping it was unlocked but it isn’t. I’ll just go… locate my roommate.”

Clarke’s already patting herself on the back for her masterful deception as she turns to walk away, when the stranger ruins it all. “You forgot your key… To my dorm?”

She winces and turns around, seeing a cocky smile almost lazily pulling at his lips. Fuck, he probably thought she was in love with his roommate and trying to break into their room or something. With a sigh, she holds out her hand.

“I’m Clarke. Your roommate is currently sleeping with mine, and I need somewhere to work on my paper.” The boy pushes off the wall and shakes her hand with a firm grasp, smile still in place.

“John, but everyone calls me Murphy. From what I know of Bellamy, they’re probably not sleeping.” Clarke laughs at that and agrees with him as Murphy open the door to the dorm.

Clarke had been worried about the room being a disaster, like Monty and Jasper’s room is, and the light reveals her fears to be half right. There’s an almost clear line in the room between the semi-organized chaos typical of all students who generally have more important things to do than clean, and what appears to be no-man’s land in a war against the very concept of cleanliness. Clarke makes a beeline for the clean bed and gingerly takes a seat on the edge of it. She opens her bag and unpacks her laptop, hyper aware of Murphy’s movements as he removes his shoes and hangs up his leather jacket on a row of pegs just inside the door.

She shakes her head, telling herself to ignore him as she launches the word document that will eventually comprise 20% of her grade. But as she scrolls to the end - still the word “marble”, but thankfully a different instance of it - any vestige of concentration is shattered as Murphy walks directly towards her and lays down on the bed behind her, stretching out with a sigh and tucking his arms behind his head. He’s every inch the definition of casually handsome bad boy in that pose, and Clarke has to remind herself that she’s only known him for a minute, if that. And she has work to do, right.

“What are doing?” Clarke’s hands are frozen on her keyboard as she glances at him over her shoulder. Sure, she’d laughed at his joke, but they weren’t _that_ friendly.

“You’re the one sitting on my bed.” He shrugs his shoulders and chuckles lightly as Clarke’s cheeks flush bright red. Of course his side would be the clean one. He’s hardly ever there. She’d just assumed that was the case because of the potentially toxic state of the other side of the room. And maybe he was, if that’s any indication of Bellamy’s lifestyle.

“Wow, I’m sorry. I just…” She looks over at the pile of clothing, trash, and miscellaneous goods on the other bed. “I understand why they had to take over my room now.”

“Yup. That’s Bellamy for you.” There’s a bitter tone to Murphy’s voice as he mentions Bellamy’s name. “At least I never have to be worried about getting kicked out, though.”

“True, that has to be nice.” Murphy shrugs again, and Clarke contemplates getting up. But finding a path to that bed seems hazardous to her health, so she just repositions herself. Murphy’s bed is tucked against walls on three sides, so she sits by his feet, removing her shoes and swinging her legs onto the bed and curling them to prop her laptop between her thighs and stomach. He raises an eyebrow as she makes herself comfortable, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s funny. Bellamy said he knows almost nothing about you, yet you seem to know a fair amount about him. At least about his… extracurricular activities.” The corner of Murphy’s lips quirks into something similar to a smile, but there’s no amusement in his eyes.

“I don’t tolerate idiots. Bellamy’s a smart guy, but his friends are unbearable.” Clarke can feel for him on that one. She loves Raven like a sister, but Wick’s childish antics just frustrate her without the other girl around as a mediator. “And there’s the fact that he never knocks. After he walked in on me sucking a guy off once, I vowed to never bring anyone back here. I don’t like being interrupted.”

There’s something about the way Murphy says it, the way that he watches Clarke with slightly narrowed eyes, that almost makes it a test. Seeing how she’ll react to him referencing casual sex, or to him having sex with a guy? Either way, Clarke really doesn’t care - although the mental image of Murphy on his knees is quite enticing - so she just shrugs in response.

“I wish Raven had taken that stance after I walked in on her once. There are things I can’t unsee in life, and apparently dicks are one of them.” Murphy laughs and Clarke smiles at that. If there’s one thing everyone can relate about, it’s the lack of privacy in their dorms. 

“I have a feeling Bellamy’s the same way. Although I suppose me suggesting an impromptu threesome didn’t help.” And then it’s Clarke’s turn to laugh, remembering how the next day Raven had broken up with the guy because he’d sent her a text saying “next time invite ur roomie shes cute ;)”. The guys at this school are all idiots, she swears.

Murphy shifts, sitting up and bending one knee to casually hang his arms over, and Clarke feels sorry for anyone who had to spend time in this room with the both of them. Because if Bellamy had been there, that would have been an overwhelming level of attractiveness in that room. As is, the way that Murphy’s arms lay against the black skinny jeans is pretty unfair.

“You’re staring.” Clarke feels her cheeks light up as the cocky grin returns to Murphy’s face, and she gets the feeling that enjoys making people squirm. And of course, that makes Clarke want to do exactly the opposite, red face be damned.

“And if I am?” She shrugs and leans fully against the wall, casting a purposefully appraising gaze over his body. Not that she doesn’t enjoy picking up on the way that his skin tight grey tee clings to his shoulders, or how his jeans leave very little to the imagination in their current position. “You’re objectively attractive, and I know I’m safe from you ravaging me considering you’ve already told me you have a rule about bringing people back here. And you may or may not be gay.”

“Not gay.” And Clarke’s heart picks up a little at that. God dammnit, she has work to do. What is she doing flirting with a guy? While sitting on his bed, alone with him. Shit. “And the rule was to prevent Bellamy from walking in on me. Depending on your roommate's endurance, that’s probably not an issue for a while yet.”

“Definitely not an issue.” Clarke glances at her laptop and back up at the incredibly good distraction on the other end of the bed. “I did come here to do work, though.”

“Ah, right, work. Well, don’t let me distract you, then.” And Murphy reclines against the other wall, looking up at her as Clarke stares at the document. She can do this, she’s not going to fall prey to hormones like all of her classmates. She resolutely presses a few keys, proud of herself as words appear on her screen. And then Murphy licks his lips, and Clarke curses her peripheral vision for being so good. She closes her laptop with a click and sets it aside, locking eyes with Murphy as he cocks a brow at her.

“Fuck it.” Clarke crawls over the bed to Murphy, stopping just short of touching him. “It’s not good to work too hard.” 

“Sure, you deserve a break.” And there’s a dare in his eyes and a taunt in his tone, but Clarke still hovers just a little bit away from him. She wants to make him break, cause him to lose some of this calm veneer he has on. So she pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, deliberately tugging on it in a way that, if his hungry gaze is anything to go by, is quite attractive.

Clarke’s not really sure which one of them move first, but it’s a very good thing that Bellamy stays over with Raven, because after their lips meet, neither Murphy nor Clarke thinks to lock the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know nothing about how dorms work?? I'm just guessing based off of media and other fanfics, 'cause I rented a house with a few friends when I was in college. But yes, have the next installment in the fuckton of Murphy centric requests I've received! It's amazing, I love you all so much. Especially [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com), although I'm pretty sure she's in love with my prompting anons too
> 
> Anyway, come chat with me [on tumblr!](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) Thanks in advance for commenting/viewing/leaving kudos <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked _"clarphy modern au: clarke is having dinner with finn, but murphy invites himself to their table after braven tell him about the date. (bitchy murphy is my fave murphy.)"_

Murphy doesn’t do relationships. It’s not that he’s opposed to the idea, it’s just that… Well, he’s in college, and it just seems stupid to settle down when there’s so much experimenting to be done. For example, if he had been monogamous with the first girl he had slept with at this school, he never would have confirmed that he also liked men. And if he had committed to the first guy he’d had sex with, he never would have had a mind blowing evening with the strange girl who had shown up at his room last week, after having been _sexiled_ from her own by his oh-so-considerate roommate.

He finds himself thinking about her. A lot. To the point where it starts to annoy him, but the meanest thing he can think about her is that her hair is unfairly blonde and her eyes disturbingly blue. Any time he tries to bring up some negative note in his mind in order to crush the bubbling warmth in his chest at the thought of her, he just ends up thinking about her laugh, or the way she had moaned his name and whispered it into his shoulder. 

“Fuck.” Murphy lays heavily on his bed with an exhaled curse, a bed that he’s actually been using since that night. For some reason he just didn’t want to sleep with random people, or even his normal fuck buddies. His grades are definitely improving for it, but Murphy can’t help feeling dissatisfied.

He’s in a bad enough mood as is when his roommate comes lumbering in, chatting on the phone without even tossing a greeting in Murphy’s direction. He somehow manages to navigate the piles of trash on his side of the room and sits on his bed, a feat that astounds Murphy. He just sighs and lays his head down on his pillow, hoping to gain some inspiration for a poetry piece without actually having to do work for it. His mind is idly flitting through idea after horrible, cheesy idea, when a name draws his attention to the conversation.

“...Clarke will love him. And I’ve already set everything up with him, he knows to be at Jumping Bean at seven on Saturday.” There’s a pause as, assumably Raven, says something and Bellamy smiles. “You too, I’ll see you later.”

Bellamy hangs up the phone and immediately calls someone else, and Murphy tunes him out again. _Shit_. All ideas for his composition fly straight out of his mind. How is he supposed to think about poetry with the vague guideline of “Either impress me, or accept the fact that there are no original ideas” when Clarke is going to be going on what sounds like a date in just a few days?

Objectively, Murphy knows he shouldn’t be surprised. They’re in college, they hooked up. He hadn’t even tried to get her number or meet up with her again, so he really only has himself to blame for the fact that she may want her roommate to set her up with someone. But Murphy really doesn’t want to be objective right now.

He stands up silently and stalks out of the room. No need to say anything to Bellamy, at least they’re relaxed about each other’s comings and goings. He passes people in the hallway without caring one way or another about them. It’s pointless to try and observe everyone in the halls, you’d just overwhelm yourself with humanity. Murphy’s never been much of one for people, anyway. Sure, he likes parties and hooking up, but at the end of the day he doesn’t really crave people beyond physical and brief spurts of emotional gratification. The amount of people he chooses to interact with on a regular basis without exchanging bodily fluids could be counted on one hand, with fingers to spare.

He heads across campus in the chill night air, cutting through the small grouping of trees that idiots call “the forest”, and making a beeline for the arena. This late at night jocks and Murphy’s own special brand of people share the area peacefully. The jocks heat themselves by running, and the others huddle around small flames and seek warmth in inhaled fumes.

“Hey, Murph!” Miller, the one person Murphy would actually call a friend, waves him over with a smile and holds up a smoldering joint. Normally Murphy would indulge, especially when seeking inspiration, but he knows it’s a terrible idea when he’s upset. He does not have the good fortune of always mellowing out when he gets high.

“Sup, Miller?” Miller shrugs and grunts non-comitantly as Murphy slouches against the bleachers next to him, peering through the shadows to see who else is there that night. A few faces he recognizes, and some he doesn’t. Standard evening, then.

The conversation flows in the peculiar way that only makes sense to those involved in it. There are periods of speech where the pace increases to be almost unintelligible, yet all parties appear to comprehend it entirely. Then there are long stretches of silence, where everyone falls a little bit into themselves. To Murphy, most of it makes no sense when they do talk, but he knows that in this scenario being an outside observer is entirely different from looking from within.

“An external observer.” Murphy mutters to himself. Of course, that’s how he could sort out what the best course of action to take about his feelings in regards to Clarke would be. And of course he wants to pursue nothing of the sort.

“You even listening to us, man?” Miller jostles his shoulder against Murphy’s knee.

“Of course not, I try not to make a habit of listening to idiots.” Some of the vaguely mysterious figures look at them strangely. They must be new, otherwise they’d be used to the special sort of friendship that many of this group has.

“How can you even listen to yourself think?”

“Now now, Mill, you know I try to avoid thinking as much as possible.” Most of the group joins in the laugh that prompts, and Murphy smiles. He can’t help but feel relaxed among these guys.

“Anyway, Dax was saying we should hit the bars this weekend. You know, work off some of the final project stress.” Murphy isn’t stressed at all, but he’s more than happy to go out. It had been a while since he’d had a good drink.

“Yeah, and it would give you a chance to hook up with someone. You haven’t gotten laid since that sweet little piece of ass last wee-” Dax never gets to finish the last word, because Murphy whirls on him and slams the other boy into the hard metal of the stands.

“Jesus christ, Murphy!” Miller jumps up and grabs Murphy’s shoulder immediately, used to being the one to reign him in whenever he does something stupid. Which is a lot actually.

To his credit, Murphy releases a very frightened Dax almost immediately, mumbling something along the lines of “Sorry”. He looks around at the group, all of them looking vaguely concerned about being near him. Except for Miller, who’s sat back down as if nothing happened.

“I’m gonna go, uh, study.” Murphy mutters as he turns away and heads back towards the dorms. Shit, Clarke must really be getting to him.

The rest of the week passes with Murphy in a foul mood. He actually attends class more often than usual, simply because he doesn’t have to deal with people as the teacher drones on about Chaucer. Whenever he’s in his room, he throws on headphones and blasts his music loud enough that Bellamy starts throwing things at him to make him turn it down. Had he not taken up these anti-social behaviours, he might have had a distraction when Saturday rolled around.

But, as is, Murphy wakes up on Saturday morning, the sky dark grey with promised rain and matching his mood to a tee, without anything to keep his mind off the fact that there’s just a few hours until Clarke goes on a date with another guy. His stomach grumbles at him, not the least ashamed of making its desires know, and he’s almost tempted to groan right back. Instead, he grits his teeth and gets out of bed.

As Murphy takes a bitingly cold shower, hoping to clear the fog in his mind and only succeeding in pissing himself off even more, he realizes he still need to come up with a poem with an original core concept. He pulls on battered jeans, an old leather jacket and a ratty shirt, deciding that this is the perfect way to distract himself from the impending Date. In his mind, it was more than important enough to deserve a capital ‘D’, considering how much he’d been obsessing over it.

Murphy doesn’t keep track of time or his path as he wanders the campus grounds, and a little bit beyond. No, he wracks his brain as he hasn’t in a long time, actually trying to come up with a good idea for the poem. But the more ideas that he scraps, the more he becomes convinced his teacher is right. When you boil down a poem, strip it of its imagery and all the floral language the poets give to their creations, they’ve all been written. All he could ever hope to lend the world is new packaging on an old idea.

The concept of conceding defeat rubs Murphy entirely the wrong way, however, so he keeps on in his aimless wanderings, sunk deep inside his own mind. It’s not until he feels his hunger, still unsatisfied from that morning, making itself known again, that he realizes where he’s walked to. And he thought he was doing so well at keeping his mind off Clarke.

_Jumping Bean_ stares at him from the sign over the door, and Murphy shakes his head slightly with a sigh. He doesn’t even particularly like the place, yet he’d still ended up here at… 6:56pm, according to his phone. Of course he had, because he’s hung up on Clarke Griffin like he hasn’t been with anyone since his first crush. Murphy gives up on denying his infatuation to himself, and satisfaction of his hunger, and heads inside to get some food and to see Clarke again.

Murphy scans the room as he enters the cozy coffee shop, picking out Clarke almost immediately, her back to him but her laugh carrying clearly at something her date says. The man in question is facing Murphy, sitting across from Clarke at a small, barren table. Either they both showed up early enough to be done their coffee, or they haven’t been here long enough to have gotten drinks yet. Murphy hopes for the latter. It’ll be easier to break up their date if they’ve hardly even started it.

The guy leans forward with a smile, his hand sliding across the table towards Clarke’s. She shifts her hand away slightly, but not nearly as quickly or as far away as Murphy wants. He almost walks over there immediately, but his stomach twists painfully, displeased with his treatment of it today. Murphy glares at the air in front of him only because he’s not flexible enough to glare at his own stomach, probably frightening the poor barista, and marches up to the counter. 

“Give me the most filling thing you have.” In another time, Murphy might have tried to flirt with the barista. She is pretty cute, but he really doesn’t care right now.

“Um, okay, that’ll be-”

“I don’t care what it is or how much it costs.” Clarke’s laugh makes its way to his ears again, and Murphy desperately wants to be at that table right now. “It’ll be on Visa, and I want it in the quickest way possible.”

The barista, to her credit, simply nods and rings him up, grabbing a ridiculously large brioche covered in sugar and butter and handing it directly to him. Murphy mumbles a thanks, the first mouthful already on its way down his esophagus before he’s put his card away, and turns away from the counter. 

Murphy quickly swallows down another few bites as he makes his way over to the small table that Clarke and her date are sitting at, drawing the male’s curious gaze only in the last few steps. Murphy smiles at him and slides a chair over from the table next to them. By the time Clarke actually looks at him and sees who the intruder on her date is, he’s already seated on the chair, straddling it with his arms draped over the back of it, remainder of the brioche dangling between his fingertips just about the surface of the table.

“Hey Clarke, didn’t expect to see you here.” Murphy smiles at Clarke, pointedly ignoring the shock on the face of her date. He takes another bite of brioche, and then holds it out to her. “Do you want to try some of this? It’s coconut orange, I think.”

“Hi Murphy.” Clarke’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, probably at his sudden appearance, but there’s a small smile at the corner of her lips. “No thanks, Finn and I were just about to go get some food.”

“You sure? It’s really good.” Murphy holds it up and makes a point of licking a crumb that falls onto the base of his thumb off very slowly, maintaining eyes contact with Clarke the whole time. He feels triumphant when her eyes flicker to catch the movement of his tongue. He wonders if she’s remembering what it felt like to have his mouth against her skin, because he sure as hell is. Clarke clears her throat slightly and opens her mouth to reply, doubtlessly to shoot him down again, in which case Murphy would change the topic to something equally inappropriate, but her date interrupts by placing his hand on Murphy’s shoulder.

“Do you mind? We’re sort of on a date here.” Murphy smiles at the guy and pats the hand on his shoulder as condescendingly as he can before removing it.

“I don’t mind at all.” He gives his best cocky grin before turning back to Clarke. He pops the last bite of brioche in his mouth and licks the sugary topping from his fingers, cocking an eyebrow quizzically at Clarke. “Blind date?”

“Yes, actually. And just for Finn and me, surprisingly enough. There’s a reason you weren’t invited.” Murphy can practically hear Finn’s smugness at that, and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Come on, he said you were “sort of” on a date. If it’s only a “sort of” date, then surely it’s open to drop in guests.”

Clarke leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re not a guest, Murphy. You’re a hookup who never called.” 

Murphy can hear Finn whisper the word to himself behind him, and he wonders how long it will take before the poor guy finally gets up and leaves. His date never had a chance at success after Murphy sat down, even if Murphy gets shot down he is going to make sure Clarke doesn’t end up with this guy for entirely petty reasons.

“And you’re a hookup who didn’t leave a number.” Okay, so he could have got her number any one of a number of ways. But she could have always gotten his and called him, so his point still stands.

“Clarke, you slept with this guy?” Admittedly Murphy isn't looking his sharpest right now, but the amount of surprise in Finn’s tone is slightly offensive. “He’s a thug.”

“I’m not a thug, thank you very much. I have standards for who I get in fights with.” If Murphy had fought Finn, or one of his friends at one point, that would explain the surprise. Gorgeous, seemingly innocent at first glance Clarke Griffin should, by all rights, be more interested in someone like Finn. But Murphy guesses she isn’t all that innocent, based on the last night they’d spent together.

Clarke turns her attention to Finn, ignoring what Murphy said. “Do you have a problem with me sleeping with a thug?”

“Not a thug.” Murphy feels compelled to keep up his interjections into the conversation, even though they go unheeded. 

“Obviously you can do what you want, but… You can do so much better than him.” The words in and of themselves aren’t offensive to anyone but Murphy, but something in Finn’s tone must rub Clarke the wrong way.

“I don’t really think you know either of us well enough to make that call, Finn.” Clarke stands up, glaring at both of them a little, and then Finn more than a little. “Thanks for an exciting evening, I’ll be on my way. Alone.”

Murphy shrugs and leans back in his chair as she leaves the shop, but Finn gets up to go after her. Murphy’s not concerned. He’ll get her number tomorrow, he’ll apologize, and he’ll work on getting back into her good graces, knowing he’s on better footing in that regards than Finn. Chasing after an upset woman who has said she wants to be alone is never going to end well, despite what romance movies would have you think.

When Murphy gets back to his room an hour later, he sees his phone sitting on his bed precisely where he’d forgotten it earlier, notification light blinking away merrily. He almost doesn’t check it, certain it’s going to be a facebook app or one of his friends inviting him out, but he clicks the unlock button on a whim. A text from an unknown number sits amongst other notifications, and he opens it expecting a wrong number.

_You know, if you don’t want me to date other people, you should date me yourself. -Hookup who’s leaving a number now_

Murphy smiles as he lays on his bed, thumb hovering over his screen as he reads the message over and over again. Maybe getting back into her good graces won’t be as hard as he thought it would.

_Tomorrow, 9pm, there’s a pub called The Board just off campus. Just us, I don’t “sort of” date. -Hookup who will call you tomorrow_

Murphy sleeps better than he had for the last week that night, despite the fact that he still has no idea what to write for his poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I started this over six months ago, wrote about the first 1200 words, and then I left it. I finally got off my ass and finished it, though! Thanks to the ever helpful [coldsaturn](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) for the quick and amazing edit!
> 
> Come chat with me [on tumblr!](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) And, as always, thanks in advance for commenting/reading/leaving kudos <3


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